


Joining the Dots

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Porn, Post-Episode: s08e08 Mummy On The Orient Express, not very romantic really, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: After leaving the Orient Express, Clara finally gets the Doctor into bed.





	Joining the Dots

Clara breathed deeply as the Doctor moved up her body, parting her legs further to accommodate him. He had licked her wet and ready and she was eager to do more. He settled above her and stared down, intense. Clara hoped like hell that he wasn't going to back out now. They'd done pretty much everything else, why not this as well?

The Doctor paused, and Clara thought that he was about to say something. If he asked if she was certain, would she falter? 

He didn't. He nodded almost imperceptibly, pressed against then into her, pushing in slowly, almost too slowly, eyes closed. Clara drew in a breath, looking up at him as he entered, waiting for him to open his eyes again. When he did, she was surprised – she had expected to see affection, but all she could see was need. She probably looked the same to him. 

This wasn't going to change anything. _Never leaving,_ she told herself. _Never. Ever._ She had made her decision already and a quick tangle between the sheets wasn't going to unmake that choice. They'd be together until death – probably hers – parted them forever, because that's what Clara wanted and she was good at getting her own way. She had convinced him to finally bed her, after all. 

He paused to let her get used to the intrusion, and she had to work to stop herself comparing him to Danny, from wondering what the older, younger, Doctor would have felt like inside her. She chased the thoughts away. This was good, it didn't need to be compared. 

She made a survey of his face, of the studiedly-neutral expression and the lines that marked out his features. She had initially been thrown by his sudden ageing, by the loss of her pretty boy, but now she didn't care. More than that, she thought that he looked handsome despite the lines of someone else's cares.

No, not despite.

She drew her legs up around him as he started to move, locking her ankles together as though that might hold him if he tried to run away. Would he take fright when she moved her body with his? When she revealed the extent of her own lusts? When she came? She thought she knew him, but she was clever enough to wonder if anyone really did. She shooed that thought away too, in case it spoiled the illusion of control.

“Doctor,” she breathed, “you can go a bit faster, I'm not fragile.”

He looked like he didn't believe that in the slightest, but he did as he was told, the way he always would. He held himself carefully above her, moved a hand with hesitant uncertainty to cup her breast. She moaned gently to encourage him, to tell him that he wasn't doing anything wrong. He was quite welcome to explore her body further, to show some of that famous initiative of his. 

She lifted her hips to meet him, absorbing and enclosing her new lover. She met his thrusts with movements of her own, and even attempted a trick or two that she had read about in women's magazines and practised at home. Maybe he was impressed. Maybe he admired her. Maybe he was just really into humans. 

Maybe she was just really into Time Lords. He _felt_ the way a human did, and he moved like one, but was it really that simple? Was this the sort of thing his people did when they were intimate with each other, or was he only doing this for her benefit? 

“Doctor.”

“Clara.” His first word since he had crawled between her legs.

“Is this good?” she asked, not sure if she wanted him to lie if it wasn't.

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“I don't know,” she said, between breaths. 

He didn't say anything to that, just _moved_ and made her gasp. She clutched at his shoulders, draw her fingers through his hair, now long enough to tug on and toy with. Somehow the grey seemed to suit him now, as though he had never been brown-haired and youthful. Should she feel guilty about that? Would he be disappointed that she no longer fantasised about his previous self?

And it was still too slow. She urged him on with quick thrusts of her hips and pointed moans. He sped up his movements, dropping his mouth to her throat and drawing a sliver of skin between his teeth. He'd never hurt her, of course, but he seemed to understand that she needed the added sensation. 

He panted her name, over and over and he made it sound wonderful. He didn't say he loved her, or that she was beautiful. She hadn't really expected him to. He was still the Doctor, after all.

Did he mind that she didn't even know his real name? That she had to call him 'Doctor' in bed because he'd never shared that part of himself with her? Would he be disappointed when she failed to say it when she came? But that was his fault, not hers, and she wasn't going to let him hold it against her. 

She was getting close now, and she lifted her hand from his back to grab one of his and guide it between her legs. Without the need for verbal cues he got the idea (he was hardly a virgin, after all, Clara knew there had been at least one or two wives) and she felt the pad of his thumb circling her clit then pressing against it, rubbing gently but with enough pressure to make her cry out. 

Soon enough they were racing, pushing against each other wildly and only just managing to keep any sort of rhythm. She let her fingernails dig into the skin on his back and he seemed to like that, pupils widening and breath hitching in his throat. Did he like the pain? Was he into that? She bit his shoulder. 

“Fuck.”

She had never heard him swear. It seemed fitting and wrong at the same time. She liked it. 

When she came he was with her, ridiculously perfect timing but then wasn't he a Time Lord? He spoke, half-moaning, a set of sounds that the TARDIS didn't translate. It could have been a declaration of undying love, it could have been a string of alien obscenities. She didn't really care which it was.

He pushed himself off her, rolling onto his back to lie at her side. Clara lay still, feeling her heart beating furiously in her chest, heat flowing across her body and the pulsing pleasure between her legs. 

She wondered if he'd stay. If he tried to get out of bed now she'd kill him, she really would.

A thought struck her, far too late. “Should we have been -”

“I can't get you pregnant.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Have you ever tried?”

She had asked the wrong question. That was far too easy with him, she had done it before plenty of times and she knew that he'd forgive her once she changed the subject. Or at least he'd stop looking like she'd hurt him. 

“It was good,” she said, “I liked it.”

He nodded, silent, and stretched against the mattress. 

“It was good,” she repeated with an prompting edge in her voice. 

“Yeah,” he said, and that would have to do. 

Clara stared up at the ceiling, speculating about whether she could ever make him be open about his feelings. Probably not, she decided. 

“Are you going to tell Danny Pink?” he asked, after a brief silence.

“No,” she said, surprised. She had forgotten that she had a boyfriend. “I don't think so.”

“Would he mind?” 

“No,” she lied, not because she thought he'd believe her, but so that they both had an excuse. Danny wouldn't mind, because Danny wouldn't know. It was fine.

“You can sleep here, if you like,” he said, in what sounded like a fit of generosity.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” she asked. 

“Maybe not in this room, but I'll still be on the TARDIS. I'm not going to abandon you, if that's what you're thinking.”

“Didn't think you would,” she told him, honest for once.

“Will _you_ abandon _me_?” he asked, just a hint of terror in his voice.

She turned onto her side and hit his chest. “Don't be stupid.”

“Everyone leaves eventually,” he said, almost succeeding in hiding the sorrow in his voice. 

“I won't,” she promised. 

He raised his eyebrows and slipped a hand behind his head. “Planning to live forever, are you?”

“Stranger things have happened,” she said, lightly. She didn't want to be thinking about her own death at a time like this. She really had to work on what he considered appropriate topics for post-coital conversation.

“They have,” he agreed. “They have.”

“So stop worrying about it and get some sleep. I'm knackered.” She reached down the bed and pulled the twisted sheets up to cover them. She considered snuggling up against him then thought better of it. Best not to risk it, best not to push him too far on the first go. 

Clara closed her eyes and listened to the Doctor breathing beside her. She imagined the sound of all the thoughts running through his head. 

“Goodnight, Clara,” he said, quietly. He moved, kissed her forehead as she kept her eyes carefully shut. He moved away with a barely-audible sigh and Clara pretended she had fallen asleep already. It was the path of least resistance, and she knew that he'd be grateful. 

When she slept, she dreamed of planets.


End file.
